


A Seven Nation Army Couldn't Hold Me Back

by 999blackflowers, wellhereweare



Series: 1920s Supervillain AU [1]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: 1920s Supervillain AU, Alternate Universe, Background Rosa and Randall, Established Relationship, In memorium of the og fic my friend accidentally deleted, M/M, Randall does a stab, Tarot Readings, Trigger warnings are within, very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/999blackflowers/pseuds/999blackflowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellhereweare/pseuds/wellhereweare
Summary: Hershel Layton, a mafia boss in the 1920s continues his exploits with his tiny ward, Luke Triton to find a psychic with demonstrable power.
Relationships: Hershel Layton/Luke Triton
Series: 1920s Supervillain AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717498
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	A Seven Nation Army Couldn't Hold Me Back

**Author's Note:**

> A\N from 999blackflowers: This is an AU belonging to wellhereweare, but I wrote some in a sleep deprived haze and he helped edit/write as well as coming up with the AU so he is listed as co-author. Short and I hope to write more for this AU someday! It's super fun and also you get a completely unapologetic Hershel who is incredibly fun to write. Hershel lends himself really well to just being straight-up evil if he wants. Also unwound future fucking robbed us
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> This fanfiction is rated Mature for dark themes. There is graphic violence towards the end and Luke is severely underage, although sexual components are not mentioned or discussed in this work. Please read with caution!

Any fortune teller would be honoured by an invitation to such a large, lovely house. Most of Tara’s rich clients were upper middle class women who would come into her small, slummy building, dripping with jewels and ready to slide large wads of cash to her to work her magics. But to be invited directly to the person’s house, what an honour! She’d come well dressed, her favourite bejeweled purse, her hair up in a bun with a little plastic lotus flower pin. Her dress had some motifs she would describe as “ _ Indian looking _ ”. People tended to take ethnic looking fortune tellers more seriously, but she was snow white and had to make up for that. 

At the gates, she was met by a hefty but cheerful woman with her grey curled hair in a white bandanna, and a simple servant’s outfit. She reminded Tara of the baker’s wife from back home, mannerly and welcoming. The woman nodded in greeting and grinned as Tara approached.

“Good evening, ma’am, you’re Tara, aren’t you?” The woman asked, standing behind the gates. The entranceway doors were tall and black, ornate iron swirls with fresh ashen paint. Tall silvery spikes to prevent anyone from trying to hop the fence.

“Yes, that’s me.” Tara nodded once. The woman behind the gate flipped a latch and pulled it open, inviting her onto a gravel path.

“Right on time! You’re quite punctual, aren’t you? Whenever the master has guests, I’m often kept waiting.” The woman fussed, letting Tara hurry in, thankful she wore her black sequined ballet flats rather than her heels. And the gate was closed behind her.

The gardens were quite the sight - she could see a fountain as the centrepiece and carefully divided flowerbeds. It was a particularly warm spring, and each plant and flower was in full bloom. The garden, she thought, must be even more beautiful during the day, with all the colour visible. Tara shook herself to attention. She didn’t have the time to gape. After they’d passed around a fountain and walked another length of the gravel path, the stout woman finally led her up the front steps.

The tall, mahogany doors were opened by a willowy man with slicked back red hair. His pristine butler's uniform and thick rim glasses should have made him ridiculous but the way he wore them made him look clever, the sort of man who should be trusted with his position. In fact, he seemed to immediately know who she was when he pinned his sharp eyes on her. The woman handed Tara off to him and skittered away, probably eager to get back to her work.

“Miss Tara?” He quirked an eyebrow. She found his gaze quite dissecting, strangely enough.

“Yes, I’m here to see…”

“It’s alright, I already know.” He offered a gentle hand. Tara felt it quite curious to be offered the butler’s hand, but she took it. His hand was quite soft. Even stranger was how he led her through an elegant foyer, rubbing her knuckles. What a gentleman. Or a flirt.

Stepping over some strange engravings in the otherwise uncannily smooth wooden floor - seemingly solid wood, no gaps or planks, Tara was led into the next room. It was a beautiful parlour with a fireplace. Against the opposite wall sat a gramophone and an extensive vinyl library on a tall shelf. The flirty butler gestured her towards two sofas and a coffee table - all breathtakingly clean and  _ expensive.  _ She had been paid in cash in advance to come here. A hefty sum too, 500 pounds. Enough to keep her fed for… a long time, especially if she could convert this appointment into a long term client.

“The master and his boy are just here.” The butler explained, lifting her hand in his own and letting it go. Another smile as he left the room, closing two glass doors behind her. Finally, Tara’s gaze turned to the sofas, spotting the two figures sitting there.

Hershel Layton, the man who hired her, was a square-jawed, middle-aged man, relaxing back into the large couch and holding a lit cigarette loosely in one hand. He wore a beautiful suit jacket over an orange dress shirt, a top hat on auburn hair, and very expensive looking leather loafers. The combination, instead of flashy, looked rather refined. 

The other, the boy the butler mentioned, sat on the man’s knee. The small child sat primly, chubby little hands on his knees and his big dark eyes attentive. His short, fluffy hair was the colour of buckwheat honey, and he wore a frilly, cap sleeve baby blue dress that ended above the knee. His wrist length gloves and stockings were a pristine white, and his mary janes gleamed the same blue as his dress. Tara thought he was rather cute, if oddly dressed. Luke Triton, the man’s son or perhaps his ward. She wondered why Mr. Layton allowed him to dress like that.

Luke dissected her as she entered, taking a moment to  _ hmmm  _ as she took a seat. The First thing he noticed - the dress she was wearing had an ethnic motif to it. Something off there. Then his eyes gravitated to her purse, eyes lighting up. 

“Good evening, madam.” Hershel greeted with a tip of his top hat. “I understand you will be performing a Tarot reading?”

“Yes, sir.” Tara bowed her head and pulled her beautiful jeweled purse, drawing a stack of cards from it, laying straight them on the table. Hershel silently noted that the cards appeared a bit scuffed from use. He took a deep draw off his cigarette to calm a building torrent of emotion. 

Luke’s eyes lingered on the purse for several seconds, then down to the cards as Tara spread them across the table evenly, a simple skill, but impressive to watch.

“I’m looking for a Major Arcana reading.” Hershel spoke gently, pulling away his cigarette. “You may remove any minor cards from your deck.”

“Really, sir?” Tara looked up, confused. “Why?”

“A more obtuse reading may be helpful as a starting point.” Hershel explained before placing a firm hand on the shoulder of the boy on his lap. “Then, would you mind doing an additional reading for Luke, here?”

Tara looked over to the boy on his lap, her eyes going down to the strange, scandalous dress, but he only responded by pressing his knees tighter together and glaring. “Yes, of course.” She spoke gently. Antagonizing the client’s child would guarantee she’d never see him again.

Something in Luke’s mind reached out to surround them as she gathered the cards into a stack with a flick of her hand in order to pull out the Minor cards. Hershel made a little  _ hmph _ , and Luke’s eyes narrowed so, but she began to neatly pluck the minor cards out of the deck and into a second stack at her side. Once she finished, she placed the deck of Major Arcana down and spread it again, glancing up to her client.

“Is there any sort of event or personality trait you’d like me to read for?” Tara asked politely, fluttering her eyelashes. Being a pretty young woman didn’t hurt business, and if any day was the day to be charming she thought this must be it. It helped that the man was actually rather handsome.

“I’d like to know about any future relationship prospects.” Hershel requested. The boy on his lap stared sternly. “This poor boy has been motherless too long.”

“As you wish.” Tara placed her hands together, taking a deep breath of the air. She lightly tapped each card with a long painted fingernail, smoothed over them with the palm of her hand, then drew the first one.

_ The Chariot _

Tara plucked it and held the illustration forward. Luke leaned in close, squinting. The man did not seem as interested, looking at it from his position lounging against the plush sofa. 

“The Chariot represents many things. War, vengeance… Self control in some cases. But its most important meaning is working through conflict and with commitment, you will be victorious.” Tara laid the card down deftly on the other end of the table.

“Commitment in relationships is indeed important.” Hershel commented softly. Luke plucked the card from the table. Tara would have normally stopped him, but surely, being just a little boy, his energies would likely not be enough to rub off on the card.

He squinted and inspected the illustration and ran his fingers over it as Tara drew another card randomly.

_ Judgement _

Tara showed them the illustration - an angel blowing a trumpet in the clouds, and several naked people rejoicing. Despite the ominous name, it was clear this was a positive scene. 

“So. This card is about an end of something, and a new beginning.” She interpreted, rattling off her explanation. “In comparison with commitment… Moving from being single to in a relationship is indeed an end, is it not?”

And suddenly, the boy raised his hand as if asking a teacher a question.

“I have a question.”

“What is it?” Tara asked, charmed. 

“Where did you get your purse?” He asked, blinking slowly.

“It was downtown in a lovely designer shop.” Tara explained with a light smile, glad to see the boy thought she had good taste. “Perhaps your father will take you.”

The boy’s smile faltered, but he bowed his head and put  _ The Chariot  _ down alongside  _ Judgement,  _ folding his arms as if expecting the next card draw quickly. Tara obliged him and plucked the third.

_ The Magician _

“Now, the Magician is about the talents you could use to your disposal. You’re a rich man, obviously good for attracting women, handsome - scholarly?”

“I was a professor many years ago, so yes.”   
  


“So, your new relationship will obviously bring an end to your singleness and change many things about you. But you have many talents to attract new people, and things  _ will  _ work for you.”

Tara placed the third card down, quite proud of herself. And a smile came to her face, quite proud of herself. How lucky that he got a positive reading - she’d had to give negative readings to people sometimes. And with how handsome he was, she was sure he wouldn’t have any trouble finding a wife.

“My, what talent you have.” The man said, a small smile crossing his face. Tara smiled brightly and thanked him, reaching forward to take her cards and put her deck back together. Her hand stilled over the pile of Minor Arcana. “Now, would you like a similar reading for your boy or one with a full deck?”

“No, no, we’ve seen enough.” Hershel’s smile remained. He offered the cigarette to Luke who took it from his fingers and carefully set it in the ashtray with one hand. Then, weirdly, the boy took a strip of white fabric from his pocket which the older man promptly tied around his eyes. All of this down with a silence and deftness that spoke of experience. Finally Mr. Layton spoke. “You’ve shown your talents to be… limited.”

“Ah.”

“Look around.” Hershel spoke firmly. “When you entered the gates, did you notice anything about poor dear Rosa? The woman is drowning in her guilt, in her fear. You are not the first she has led to me, nor will you be the last, and everyday it weighs on her.” 

“She keeps wanting to leave.” The boy spoke up, perfectly happy to be blindfolded, apparently. “But the Professah pays the best of anyone in town, and they need the money.”

“And Randall Ascot, the man who escorted you for the last leg of your journey, has taken hundreds of lives by now, he gets quite the kick out of it. You should’ve noticed the blood on his hands when he took yours, but you didn’t.” He continued. “Not the blood on his hands nor the blood that has saturated the floors he led you over.”

And he then placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. "You painted quite an idyllic future, you really are quite a storyteller, but if nothing else in this house reached you, Luke's rare strength should have shook you to your core."

“A  _ real  _ psychic would’ve been able to remove the minor arcana from the spread without having to gather them up again.” Luke spoke with a great excitement and pride in his voice. “I could see which ones you needed to remove, but you had to bundle them up!”

Tara decided she wasn’t up to this and slowly reached for the leather strap of her purse, but the boy kept rambling.

“And I didn’t detect any energy on those cards, either!” Luke pointed directly at her. “You’re a phoney!”

“If my readings aren’t good enough for you, I’ve got the cash with me and I’m willing to refund in full...” Tara’s eyelid twitched. She didn’t like being chewed out like this - her power was  _ very real,  _ even if she missed everything coming in here. Surely this was a scare tactic. She’d had strange clients before.

“For that matter, you should have also noticed that me and Luke are married in every meaningful way.” Hershel pressed his hands down on the blindfolded child’s shoulders, who beamed with pride. Oh, ew.

Tara decided he didn’t want a refund and just got to her feet with a quick  _ goodbye,  _ only to turn around and see the butler from earlier, red hair and brandishing a knife. He merely looked grumpy. 

“Randall, please keep the purse clean for Luke. He quite liked it.” Hershel made a motion with his hand and covered the boy’s ears. He  _ hated  _ it when a murder vicim was being loud, after all.   
  


The red haired man moved, swift and startling, and grabbed her arm. Tara tried to run, to move, but it felt like every part of her was trying to escape a different direction. The knife shone in his hand and then disappeared.

Hershel kept his hands over the boy’s ears so he couldn’t hear any horrible screams, but thankfully as Randall plunged the knife into her neck, any potential screams or cries were silenced. And he watched her fall forward for her shoulders to be caught by Randall, and blood spurted onto the lovely red couch. Hershel cringed.

“Don’t let her bleed on the couch, take her out to the grooves so she doesn’t stain it.” Hershel sighed, although as Randall hoisted the weakening woman over his shoulder to move out to the grooves in the foyer, Rosa hurried in with her mop and bleach, looking quite distraught, but immediately saw the bloodied couch, and the pristine untouched purse just resting by the arm.

Once the woman had disappeared from sight, Hershel untied the blindfold from around Luke’s eyes and planted a kiss in his hair. “You did a  _ wonderful  _ job.”

“Wow, thank you, professah!” Luke beamed, but his eyes turned to the purse as he gasped. “Oh! The purse!”

“I made sure it was kept clean for you.” Hershel lifted one of the boy’s hands to kiss his little knuckles. “But, it is horribly tacky.”

“Tacky?” Luke scrunched his face up. “But, it’s all shiny!”

“I’m sure I could buy you a dozen purses  _ much _ more tasteful than that thing.” Hershel whispered and kissed his wrist again. The boy pushed himself over to kiss the older man’s lips in response.

They held the kiss for several seconds until Luke pulled away with a faint gasp. 

“It’s getting tiring finding another psychic.” Hershel admitted, closing his eyes. “I’d hate to have to use you for that ritual…”

“The one to bring your old girlfriend back from the dead?” Luke tapped his own cheek as if asking for confirmation.

“Yes, you’d think one of the hundreds of psychics we’ve met would… have  _ some  _ form of demonstrable psychic power.” Hershel grumbled. “It’s hard to ignore a sudden increase in disappearances.”

“But you’ll deal with it, won’t you?!” Luke balled his hands into fists. “We own this city!”

“Indeed I will, there’s nothing to worry about.” Hershel lifted his chin with a single finger. “And you’ll have everything you could ever want.”

“I already do, though…” Luke gave a sheepish smile at that notion, but he allowed the chin lift. 

“You’ll have even more then.” Hershel assured and gestured around. “At the very least, if we do lose it all… I’ll still have the most important thing, won’t I?”

“Yes, you will!” Luke nodded assuringly.

  
  
  


Randall listened to this conversation from the foyer, having opened a couple more wounds in the body to drain it of blood before he carried it down to the foyer. Somehow, he found it more pleasant to watch a corpse slowly drained of its blood than hearing the conversation in the next room. But the job paid well, and no other employer would give him such plentiful strings of people to kill.

Disappointing.


End file.
